Bandit's Origin
by Durbe the Barian
Summary: Fear is strength. But strength is not fear. They coincide, yet are not the same. Bandit thought about it for many a year, but never did he understand it until the day he met his master. – Inspired thanks to Yurei Hanatsuki.


**Bandit's Origin  
**

**Angst**

**OC**

**Fear is strength. But strength is not fear. They coincide, yet are not the same. Bandit thought about it for many a year, but never did he understand it until the day he met his master. – Inspired thanks to Yurei Hanatsuki. **

**(Can I actually say it? Am I actually allowed to say this? Okay, I'll risk it. I OWN THIS STUFF! IT'S ALL ME! YAHOO! OCS RULE! XD [pause] Unfortunately, I don't own the world they're in. Blast. T_T)**

* * *

Bandit's Origin

* * *

Fear is strength. But strength is not fear. They coincide, yet are not the same. So if fear is strength, then what exactly is strength?

Such were the questions of the young Bandit. From his early days as a pup, he had been taught the use of fear. He feared his father, who was more beast than parent. He feared for the safety of his brothers and sisters; a common sight for wolves of his clan. He feared the world, which his mother claimed to be normal.

But if that were the case, would not his brothers and sisters stayed with him in their nest; in their home? Would they not have journeyed out when they heard the cries of their clansmen? Would they not have perished in the fire that swept through their forest?

He didn't know. He couldn't say for certain. All he did know was what his mother had taught him.

"For our clan, fear is strength."

These words followed him into his adolescence, his mind forever searching for the reason behind such a saying.

* * *

"Do you fear me, mortal?"

Although Bandit could scarcely breathe, no thanks to the wound to his belly, he still found the strength within to question the human that was tending to him.

The human that had been wearing a stupid grin since the moment he found him.

The mortal man was draped from head to toe in a suit of chain mail, his helmet having long since been abandoned to his side. This revealed a head of messy grey hair, matching eyes staring up at the beast.

Altair, Bandit believed the man had introduced himself as. Sir Altair of the Forests. What a foolish title for such a tiny mortal.

"I asked you a question, mortal," Bandit growled. "Do you fear me?"

Altair ceased pressing herbs into the thick bandages he'd been wrapping around Bandit's injury. "Now why would you ask that?"

"Your sweaty palms are discomforting against my skin, mortal."

Altair pulled his hands away and shook his wrists. "Well, maybe a little bit. You're pretty big for an adolescent."

Bandit huffed. "Good."

"You like the fact that I fear you?"

"Indeed. Fear makes me stronger, after all."

"Huh. Interesting."

"And why would you say something like that, mortal?"

"I just thought you would hate the fact that people were afraid of you. I mean, you're a lone wolf for a reason, aren't you?"

Bandit's body went rigid as he clawed at the ground. "Whoa! Whoa!" Altair exclaimed, pressing the wolf's nose against the ground. "You shouldn't move right now! You'll just open your wound!"

Bandit refused to listen, choosing instead to scratch at the chain mail around Altair's waist. His claws chipped slightly, but some of the armor quickly gave way. "Hey! Listen, kid! I'm trying to save your life here! Now stop thrashing around like that or you'll die!"

"I take no orders from a mortal!"

"Well then, take one for a change! This mortal is trying to make sure you don't push up daisies!"

Irritated, Bandit threw his claws at Altair once more, finally drawing blood from his exposed chest. The man howled in pain, backing away from the wolf while pressing his hand against his wound.

Finally, Bandit froze, his wide eyes staring at the terrible wound.

Altair, however, simply chuckled. "Well, that hurt," he said. "Guess I should have been a little more careful."

That was when he noticed Bandit was staring. "What? Scared that you hurt me? Maybe even a little concerned?"

Bandit offered no answer.

Then Altair laughed, falling back. "Well, 'least you got a good head on those tough shoulders of yours."

The wolf tilted his head, curious as to what the human meant.

* * *

Altair continued to come to visit Bandit, regardless of how cold the welcome he was to be given. Seldom did he speak of himself, rather, he mentioned his beautiful wife and three adorable children. His daughter, the cat lover, though her fondness was not encouraged in their house thanks to one of their boys having been born with a cat allergy; his first son, the bravest and kindest; and his youngest son, the purest of the two with an obvious love for wolves. The mention of this affection made Bandit turn away in disgust. "Oh, don't worry," Altair said later. "You'd like him. He doesn't jump on them and squeeze them to death or anything of the sort. He's even raising a female wolf who's just a little younger than yourself."

Bandit scoffed. (Yes. The wolf scoffed.)

"Oh, don't give me that."

The wolf turned himself the rest of the way and chose to ignore whatever else Altair said, which he quickly learned was whatever doting father would naturally say about his three children.

Namely how adorable they were and how cute it was to see his boys dress up as knights.

Yeah. Doting parent things.

* * *

Bandit attempted to keep it hidden under a veil of apathy, however, he soon realized that he had grown fond of the human's presence. The amount of energy he brought with him was enough to make the air feel strangely stagnant when he left. A few times, he had hobbled towards the direction of Altair's village; an effort to see the children and mate that the mortal spoke so highly of.

He saw them. Only once.

The elder sister, scarcely a year older than the five year old boys, was playing with a grey cat some distance from her brothers. The middle sibling – also the older brother – was practicing swinging his weapon, though it appeared to be little more than a thick branch that he happened upon. As for the youngest, he was brushing the fur of a young white wolf.

The wife, meanwhile, was watching her children from the step, her knitting resting in the palms of her hands.

He'd only taken a single glance, but that was enough. He neither needed nor wanted anything more. Altair had once told him, "Losing my family and the people in this town; that's my fear. And that fear, that's what gives me strength."

One look at his family and Bandit understood what he meant. The fear of losing those smiles would indeed become strength for those with the will to protect them.

* * *

His liking for the mortal, as well as partial care for his family, grew more and more as Altair came to visit him. On one occasion, he had brought with him a wooden wolf made from tiny sticks. It was childish, poorly constructed, and doomed to fall apart before very long. "Sirius wanted me to give it to you," Altair said, apparently having told his family about the large beast.

Bandit was unsure whether or not he should have scoffed and turned away or sniffed the childish carving. In the end, he did neither, though Altair smiled at his indecision, even claiming that his indecision meant that he was beginning to wonder about the family Altair would not remain silent about. While that was indeed true, Bandit refused to open his muzzle to confirm it. Altair had already infected him enough as it was.

* * *

Roughly half a moon after his injury, Bandit was surrounded by a pack of wolves. They were not of his clan, that much he was certain of. They were far too small and feral to be anything more than the typical mutt. He growled at them, though it failed to make them flee in terror. Rather, it made them itch to tear at his flesh. He could see the drool falling from their chops as they drew closer to him. Fighting back was not in his power, as the amount of resting he had done made his legs feel like jelly.

He could only bark and growl, and that did little to drive them away.

One of the wolves behind him jumped into the air, sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Bandit's right ear. The great beast yowled in pain as his assailant's claws dug into his neck in an attempt to remain on his body. His vision quickly grew impaired thanks to the pain throbbing in his skull. Howling, Bandit snapped his neck forward, jolting the wolf off of his ear and throwing him into a smaller group of two other beasts. Then he fought against gravity and stood himself up again. His legs shook beneath his weight, but there was little he could do about it. He could only growl and bare the pain through his gritted fangs.

Two more wolves jumped on his back, biting into his bandages and knocking him to the ground with their weight. Both were surprisingly heavy for him. Either that, or his legs simply couldn't take an extra fifty pounds or more. He roared like the Clan Leader he once aspired to be and rammed them into a nearby tree. They fell, but he felt sick to his stomach as a result. Hardly the victory he was hoping for.

Several others swatted at his legs in an attempt to knock him off-balance. One even drew blood from his nose in a haphazard endeavor to stun him. It succeeded, allowing the rest of the pack to pin him down and tear at his blackened fur.

He could scarcely remember whatever followed, only the sounds of wolves whining and fleeing reached him before he blacked out.

* * *

Come sunrise, he regained consciousness. No wolves were in sight, nor did he smell any hiding in the bushes. His legs were wrapped in bandages, as well as what remained of his bloodied ear. A large horse's blanket covered his bound-up body, keeping him warm in the nippy morning air. "Who did this?" he asked himself.

"Hey. Aquarii, look. He's finally come to."

That was the voice of Altair. Strange, but somehow hearing him gave Bandit the strength to lift his leaden head. His glassy eyes immediately noticed the man, as well as the bandages on his arms that had been dyed a soft pink. A young woman with long, blue hair stood beside him, her milk-white fair skin glowing in the morning sunlight.

Altair's mate, Aquarii.

"Hey, bud," Altair said. "We saw what happened. You fought like a champ."

"What?" Bandit asked sleepily.

"A pack of wolves attacked you, Bandit-san," Aquarii said. "Altair fought them off of you after they jumped on your back."

Altair looked at his wounded arms. "A couple of them bit me, but Aquarii here knew how to treat them."

Bandit stared, lowering his head to the soft ground all the while. "Why did you protect me, mortal?" he asked. "I am not of your village and I am most certainly no child of yours."

"Good question," Altair said. A smile formed on his face. "Maybe because I was afraid that you would have died had I not intervened."

Bandit's dark eyes closed after that, thought he was beginning to understand what Altair meant by that.

* * *

The strength Bandit lost returned by the end of the moon. His wobbly legs gained power once more, his appetite returning in vast amounts. Muscle formed where once there was weakness. He could run where once he could hardly hobble. When before, he was incapable of battling against a pack of feral beasts, he found that he would be ready to take them down should they try again.

Altair watched with a smile the entire time. His loyalty to Bandit's healing brought with it a sense of ease. Even the few times he fell asleep allowed Bandit a chance to give a wolf's equivalent of a human smile.

A moon later, Altair had awoke to the sensation of chilling needles being pricked against his skin. His grey eyes shot open, allowing him to realize that Bandit had gone to swim the nearby river and chose to shake himself dry beside Altair. The wolf laughed at the sight of Altair's stunned face, something the man responded to by shaking his hands clean of droplets, the water directed to Bandit's snout. "Well, you seem to be doing better," he informed him.

"I am," Bandit admitted. "Thank you for that, mortal."

"You're welcome, then." Altair permitted himself a good stretch. "So, was I sleeping long?"

Bandit shook his head. "I just wished to try something."

"Try what? Waking me up with water?"

Bandit's laugh felt closer to a scoff as he lowered himself to the ground. "I wished to see how much weight I am able to carry in a full sprint. Before, I could carry a creature twice my size and weight. I am curious to see what I can do now."

Altair stared, then smiled. Standing up, he looked Bandit over before nodding. What patches of fur he had lost had grown back, any wounds healed over. There was nothing Altair sitting on Bandit's proud back could do that could possibly harm him. Unless he was careless and kicked him in the sides. He was certain that Bandit would still be fairly sore in those sections of his torso.

He had only a moment to ready himself on Bandit's back before the wolf darted down the hillside, his claws grabbing at the dirt to propel him forward.

Bandit was not like Spirit, the steed Altair had been given to ride as a knight. He was prouder, faster, and obviously more of a fighter. Spirit had heart, but Bandit had soul. Spirit had speed, but Bandit held claim to power.

He was the last remaining member of the fallen Western Wolf Clan.

Bandit was in a league all of his own. Altair knew this, even as he wrapped his fingers around the fur near the beast's neck so as to keep himself from falling off. Nay, it was especially during that time that he knew of Bandit's power.

As well as the true reason Bandit had requested to carry him.

All the way back to his town.

* * *

Loyalty. That was what the Western Wolf Clan had embodied.

A sense of loyalty carried between rider and mount. Bandit's clan was one of the few clans that gained strength so as to prepare themselves for the rider they would eventually carry. The fear that was bred into their being, the fear of losing that rider because of their negligence, became their strength. Bandit had seen pups grow into adolescence with this fear, and he could speak firsthand the kind of strength it granted.

For he had found the rider he was to carry.

Sir Altair of the Forest. Husband to Aquarii and father of three.

No other understood Bandit's pride the way he did, for he also had a sense of pride as a knight that he could not simply abandon by the roadside.

That pride gave him power.

Though, quite possibly, also saw him to his end.

* * *

In all Bandit's life, he had borne the pain of loss on his shoulders only twice.

The first was when he was a pup, watching his people fall. His brothers and sisters; his mother and father; friends and neighbors. It had almost broken him, but he kept himself running by reminding himself that he was his father's son. He had the blood of a fighter coursing through his veins. And should he die, his father's name would be forever shamed. He feared his father, but at the same time, respected him like many a son had done before.

The second, however, left him far more shattered.

The death of his rider, Altair.

It was supposed to have been such a simple battle. Altair was going to be on the front lines only for a few moments. The King of Umbra Patriae was not supposed to have been there, leading the charge.

But he was, and Altair chose to face off against him, as he had done so many times before. In their previous battles, Altair had claimed victory, either through scar or, most memorably, the loss of the King's right eye. That battle, however, was far too different.

Altair did not return from that battle alive.

He had fallen, but he did so with a smile on his face. Bandit struggled to help him get onto his back. He thought that doing so would give Altair a chance of survival. But Altair merely shook his head.

His time had come. Nothing could change that.

"Thank you...Bandit," Altair had whispered. "You...were the best friend...a man could ever hope to have."

Bandit was of the Western Wolf Clan. Tears did not come to him. On the other hand, choked howls erupted from his throat, his chest tightening up as that familiar pain grew in his body.

He had failed.

Altair had fallen.

Because he had not the strength to protect him. His fear was not enough, nor was his loyalty.

He had failed. Nothing could change that.

Bandit lowered himself to his ally's – dare he say his friend – side, his wet nose brushing against Altair's cold face. The man chuckled weakly and stroked his chin. "Thanks for helping me...Bandit," he said. "I wouldn't have lived this long...without your strength."

Bandit shook his head. What strength? The strength that left Altair on the bloodied ground? He had nothing to be thanked for.

Nothing.

"Don't...give up...okay, Bandit?"

Bandit gave no answer.

Altair breathed a sigh, then looked to the sky. "Aquarii... Katherine... Durbe... Sirius," he looked to the ground. "Take...care of each other... I'll be...keeping an eye...on all of you."

His eyes closed shortly thereafter, and Bandit let out a pained howl once more.

* * *

The years flew past, with Bandit finally growing into an adult. His shoulders grew firm and powerful, his muscles growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.

His body grew stronger, but his spirit remained broken. The pain of his failure never left him. Never again did he return to the village that Altair had called home. Never again did he travel towards the forest where Altair had first found him. While a young adult he might have been, his memories haunted him much like a tired veteran.

He never returned. Not on his own, in any case.

* * *

Bandit had lost count of the moons since his failure. He simply wandered like the beast he was, wondering what it was he was supposed to do now that his duty to Altair had died with him. He ate to keep his strength up, but remained a solitary creature.

Until the day came when the Eastern Wolf Clan caught wind of him. None of the five wolves that found him, it was obvious, were pleased with his presence.

"He's fallen," they hissed at him.

"A beast from a fallen clan."

"I smell human on him. Where is his rider?"

Bandit growled. The scent of the rider was never to fade. Humans would never notice it, regardless of what they did, but those of his kind were more than capable.

He once possessed a rider, but he had fallen under his care.

Bandit would never again have another on his back. He was a failure. A lone wolf. A black sheep.

A 'fallen' beast.

And any beast that was 'fallen' had only one task left to complete.

To follow their master into the realm of shadows.

The wolves around him growled, their shoulders tensing as they readied themselves. Bandit made no immediate moves against them. He knew better than that.

The first swatted at his face, yet he offered no rebellion. They threw him to the ground, yet he made no attempt to stand up. Not until they commanded it. "Stand, Beast! We shall not fight an already dying beast."

Bandit got back up, but made no movement to attack again.

Patience. He had learned of its importance since the death of Altair. In a battle against five of his own, he knew patience would win him the battle. He was tougher than his form dared give him credit for and he was by far the better fighter. Those before him were hardly adults, the youngest being a whelp in his eyes. Perhaps even a runt. Why he was with them was beyond Bandit. No runt could be a proper fighter, not even in the Eastern Clan.

The first attacked him again, though this time, he had him right where he wanted him. Bandit leaned back on his hind legs, landing on the wolf's ribs as he threw him to the ground. The other four jumped as Bandit kicked the first away. Then he stood tall, taunting them with his gaze. "What? Are you not going to give me a challenge? You dare take it upon yourself to send me after my rider, yet you have not the strength to keep me down?"

The second wolf growled. Then the third leapt at him, sinking his fangs into Bandit's shoulder. The fourth followed after, digging their claws into his haunches. Bandit threw them both off, though he could feel that they drew blood. The warm sensation of his lifeblood falling down the sides of his hind legs was one he could have done without.

Shaking it off, he kept his distance from the other wolves, especially the first, who had regained his breath. He breathed heavily as the whelp stepped forward, barking in an attempt to scare him away.

It failed. The whelp jumped, but did not flee.

Growling, Bandit lunged forward, scratching the whelp across the bridge of his nose. The whelp jumped back, yowling as he buried his face in his paws. Bandit chuckled. Children were absolutely incapable of handling pain. The whelp before him, evidently, was still that.

A whelp.

The fourth wolf growled at Bandit, angered at what he had done. His muscles went rigid, his claws ready to tear into his enemy. Jumping into the air, he tackled Bandit to the ground, digging into the flesh of his back as they rolled across the dirt.

Bandit threw him off, but only so the second would attack him in the fourth's stead. The third bit into his leg, forcing Bandit to reel back and yowl. He twisted his neck to the side and sunk his teeth into the shoulders of one of his opponents. The one he attacked jumped away, with the other following out of fear.

That was when the whelp took his revenge.

He shook the pain away from his nose, then readied his claws. Bandit had been weighed down moments before, leaving him unsteady when the whelp raced forward. In an attempt to fight back, Bandit leaned back onto his hind legs, his front paws shoving against the whelp's shoulders. The whelp responded likewise, digging into Bandit's injured shoulder. Bandit roared, but held his ground. He was heavier than the whelp, which gave him some ground, and the whelp was much thinner than he had first thought. However, Bandit did not realize that the whelp was also stronger than his form gave credit for. His skinny arm pulled itself free of Bandit's shoulder and he swung his claws down on his opponent's right eye.

Bright red clouded half of his vision before it blackened forever.

The roar that rouse from Bandit's throat as a result of that attack was louder and far more guttural than any before. He could barely think straight; the pain shot through his brain too quickly. In a blind rage, he threw the whelp back, wounding his belly as he did so.

Bandit's body went limp as the adrenaline that rose from the pain in his eye faded away. His fur grew heavy from sweat and blood, his knees knocking from his lack of strength. His tongue fell between his teeth; a sign that he could go no further.

He was done.

He had fought. He had drawn blood. He had bled.

He could do more than that.

His body was young, but his spirit was old. He no longer feared death, not after all he had just gone through to prove his worth.

He could only ask them to be quick about it.

The wolves saw his plea forming in his one good eye. The first one nodded, then raised his claws above his head.

Bandit closed his eye and allowed himself to fall.

That was when he heard a howl and felt pattering of paws across the soil.

He opened his eye only once more, granting him the honor of seeing a wolf only slightly smaller than himself, who's fur was softer than the clouds overhead. She was a slender beast, beautiful and graceful, her crystal blue eyes snapping with rage at those who attacked him. She looked young, but from what Bandit could tell, she was only a year his junior, perhaps a moon.

With a fierce roar, she jumped into the air, burying her claws in the back of the whelp. The other wolves were startled as she freed herself from him and leapt back, landing beside Bandit with a low growl.

Bandit could think no further. His eyes closed, only permitted one last glance at his rescuer before fainting.

* * *

"Hey... Are you alright?"

Bandit opened his one good eye.

He was walking. His sore paw pads said that easily enough. But the weight against his side was something that took him a moment longer to realize.

"Are you alright?"

Bandit looked to the side. The white wolf that had protected him was leaning against him, helping him walk up the hillside. Not a single scratch marred her beautiful fur, much to his intense relief. He was relieved, though at the same time, he found it strange that she was able to fight off five of them without getting injured.

"I am glad to see life returning to your eye," the wolf said. "I feared you would perish before I would be able to help you."

"Who are you, white wolf?" Bandit asked, his voice coming out raspy.

The white wolf answered immediately. "Guardian," she said. "Daughter of the Clan Leader of the Eastern Wolves of this continent."

So that was how she was able to achieve victory without hurting herself. He was relieved.

"What is your name? Do you remember it?"

Bandit didn't know how to answer that one for a moment. Then he spoke as well, "Bandit. Bandit of the Fallen Western Clan."

Guardian looked at him with her bright blue eyes. Her head fell as she realized no more questions need be asked at that point.

Bandit then closed his eye once more, later feeling himself falling from exhaustion.

* * *

The next thing he felt that day was a comforting feeling surrounding his injured eye. He opened his good eye, allowing him to see a busy village spread out before him. Guardian was resting on the left side of him, keeping him warm as best as she could. On his right stood a young boy, nearly fifteen years of age, tying an eyepatch around his injured eye. "So they attacked him, Guardian?"

"Yes. Had I not arrived when I did, I fear he would have lost more than just his eye."

Bandit had to turn his head more than he ever had to before in his effort to see who had helped him.

His eye widened in surprise, if not in horror.

For a moment, he saw his rider once more, that stupid grin appearing on his face.

Bandit shook his head in denial.

He knew he who stood before him. It wasn't Altair, but he did recognize him.

He hadn't seen the child for ten years, but he recognized him.

It was Sirius, the young boy who had been stroking the fur of a white wolf all those years ago.

The boy's face was pained, if not slightly somber, and slowly stroked his hand across the patches of lost fur on Bandit's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "We couldn't save your eye. I fear it was already too late before Guardian found you."

Bandit did not speak a word.

"This is my rider," Guardian said. "Sirius-sama, son of Altair-sama."

Bandit had to will himself to breathe.

He knew that child. He had avoided that child, yet there he stood once more. Bandit could only be consoled by the fact that Sirius had never once seen him carry his father home.

If anything, Bandit's pride had saved his identity.

If not from Guardian, who clearly knew of his reputation, as well as his 'fallen' status, then from the child who's heart would shatter should he ever know.

* * *

The air grew nippy that night, with Bandit too worn out to move himself to another place. Sirius had come out of his home once or twice, checking up on the proud beast when he could. Once he noticed Bandit had begun to shiver, he placed a black horse blanket over his exhausted body. "This should help you," he said, reminding Bandit of his failure once again.

Sirius did not stay long during these moments, only long enough to be certain of his condition.

Then Guardian contributed to keeping him warm, setting herself down on his left side. "You must have had a very difficult day," she said. "So get some sleep. No wolves shall attack you here."

Bandit looked to Guardian for a moment, then closed his eye. He didn't fully understand why, but he felt inclined to believe her words. Perhaps it was the softness of her voice.

Or the sureness in her tone.

* * *

Finis

* * *

**D.T.B: Whew. That's finished. Long. O.O Only partially surprising. Anyway, I have Yurei Hanatsuki to thank for this little piece of angst. We've been RP-ing – wow, since May – and Bandit appeared fairly recently. I've been depicting him as a creature that sort of feeds off of fear to get strength and it hit me. MAN! I need to write this! XD Result.**

**Please leave a review and I'll see ya later.**


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